Children's

The Change

Miss Basildon liked us. Our parents often let her baby-sit, but they didn't bother telling her where they were going. Before she arrived, they'd write down all the important phone numbers and give them to Anne.

I was the fourth child, so Miss Basildon had been coming since before I could remember. Anne and Lucy told me that she used to lean over my cot, fondling my hands and saying, 'Such sharp little fingers.' Joseph joined them in telling me how she used to pull down my lip with her forefinger and say, 'Such pointed little teeth.' I remember well how she used to run her fingers through my hair and say, 'It grows like ivy, doesn't it, dear?'

I started to avoid her when she came to baby-sit. As there were so many of us, it was easy to get lost. Miss Basildon was happy to read stories to Molly, or to lean over Daniel's cot and cluck. Once, Anne caught me watching her from the doorway, and she said, 'She's only ever done it with you.'

Miss Basildon turned round and saw us then. Smiling, she said, 'Anne, my dear, you get lovelier every time I see you. Don't you have nice white hands?'

'I suppose,' said Anne, looking at her hands.

'You look rather brown, Fay,' she said to me.

'It's the sun,' I said.

'You like to play in the sun, don't you, dear?'

'Yes.'

'I thought as much.'

She was always staring at me, whenever I saw her. I tried shutting myself in my room, but she used to tell me not to, so I stayed in there with the door open. She didn't mind that. She liked to shuffle all around the ground floor, which was where I slept. Somebody had to, and I rather liked being on my own down there at night.

From my bedroom window, I could see her house. Like our house, it had a large kitchen and living room, and seven bedrooms. But Miss Basildon had only herself to fill them, and her moth-eaten cat Dorothy, who was hardly ever there. Dorothy kept climbing into our milk hatch, having kittens and staying for weeks on end.

When Miss Basildon was with us, I took to watching the sun set behind her empty house, and then trying to peer into the rooms. It was easy to see that she had a lot of bookcases, and a lot of peering at these convinced me that all of her books were very old indeed.

The kitchen was the hardest thing to see, as there was only a tiny window visible from my room. I looked at this window a lot, sometimes with Miss Basildon's silhouette roaming around the house, and I convinced myself that she had a kitchen full of jars and bottles.

One day I called Joseph into my room and said, 'I think Miss Basildon is a witch.'

'I think you're probably right,' he said.

'Do you think she eats children, or anything like that?'

'Probably.'

He and I were the middle two children, and had always been allies. At that time Anne and Lucy had started going out and giggling together, and Molly was teaching Daniel how to swear. For me, it was suddenly no good talking to Joseph. He had grown up, and was humouring me.

That was in October, which made it particularly significant. Later that day I went out to collect conkers, and for the first time in my life, I did it alone. Anne wrapped me in a coat and scarf, and told me to take my gloves. The sun was bright, but the air was crisp and cold. It was what we called 'conker weather', and the first day like it that year.

'Making fairy rings, dear?'

I jumped. When I turned round, Miss Basildon was hobbling across her front garden on her walking stick.

'No,' I said.

'Collecting conkers, is it?'

'Yes.'

'You're still brown from the sun,' she said. 'It seems to me that you brown well into the autumn. You are like a little autumn leaf, skipping around in the chill wind.'

'Will you be warm enough, Miss Basildon?' I asked. 'Anne said I had to wear a scarf.'

'The cold weather hasn't set in yet,' said Miss Basildon. 'Well, enough chit-chat. I came to enquire after your brother. Is he ill?'

'Which one?'

'Joseph, dear. I've watched you these last five years or more, and you two always come out to collect your conkers together, on the very first day of bright sunlight and cold air.'

That startled me. I'd had no idea that Miss Basildon watched us so closely.

'He's too old now,' I said.

Miss Basildon nodded as though she understood perfectly.

'I see,' she said. 'The time has come, has it? You are drifting away from your family.'

'I am not!'

'Yes you are, dear. You are different from the rest of them. Will you come into my house and have some tea and biscuits?'

As much as Miss Basildon unnerved me, I wanted to see inside her house. Perhaps we would have tea and biscuits in the kitchen, and I would see her jars of witchy ingredients.

When she showed me into the living room, I was not disappointed. This must surely mean that she did not want me to see her kitchen, so she must have had something to hide. I sat on a high armchair in a bed of cat hair and waited while she boiled the kettle. The room was dark and decorated with paintings, cat ornaments and a very loud mantle clock.

'Thank you, that looks lovely,' I said, as Miss Basildon brought in a clattering tray in her unsteady hands. On it were two mugs, a steaming teapot, a sugar bowl, a milk jug and a plate of rich tea biscuits. This all seemed very old-fashioned to me. At home we made tea in the mug, poured milk from the bottle and had sugar and biscuits from their packets.

Miss Basildon sat down, poured the tea with pursed lips and said nothing.

'Mum and Dad might ask you to baby-sit on Halloween,' I said, to fill the silence.

She smiled, and said, 'I like your family's company, Fay. It is many, many years since I lived in a house full of children.'

Dorothy wandered in and sat on Miss Basildon's lap. The old lady stroked the cat, her fingers catching in the straggly fur like brambles on a woollen sleeve.

'Did you have a lot of brothers and sisters?' I asked.

'Yes, dear. More than you have. There were seven of us, in fact, and I was number five. Not a good number to be when there are seven. The others all paired off, much like the six of you have done. The oldest two went together, then the middle two. I got left out because the last two were the little ones. I was just sort of spare.'

'I'm sorry,' I said, not knowing what else to say.

Miss Basildon smiled again. 'Never mind, dear. I simply didn't fit in, you see. I liked to be by myself out of doors, collecting acorns and conkers and looking at the sky. Do you see how similar we are, Fay?'

'Everyone likes collecting conkers,' I said.

'Not Joseph.'

'He did before he got too old.'

'That is just the trouble with people,' said Miss Basildon. 'They get too old. I never did. Oh yes, I know I am old, but I don't feel it. And I don't believe you will ever feel old either, my dear. You may not even feel like a person for very much longer. I think you will soon want to run away with the fairies and leave your family behind.'

I finished my tea and excused myself, telling Miss Basildon that she needn't bother to see me out. As I was opening her front door, I heard her saying, 'Well, Dorothy, what do you think?'

I went home feeling frightened, though of what I did not know. I was certain now that Miss Basildon was some sort of witch. I do not know what I thought she was going to do to me, but I was frightened all the same. Then there was her talk of someone tapping on my windows. That night, I got the fright of my life when I was woken by just that: a gentle tapping on the glass.

I do not know how long I stayed cowering under my duvet before the noise went from frightening to annoying, and I scrambled out of bed. I was sure I had worked myself into a state about nothing, and expected only to have to move a tree branch or some such. My heart leapt when I saw a face peering in at me. Then, a moment later, I recognised it.

I threw open the window, and said, 'What are you doing, Miss Basildon?'

Miss Basildon went, but I had Dorothy prowling round outside my window for most of the night. In the morning she was gone, but Anne soon found her in the milk hatch with another litter of kittens. All she said was, 'I hope she moves them before the cold weather really sets in.'

I thought it was rather cold already, though I knew it would get colder. Sometimes, in the evenings, Anne would light the big open fire in the living room and we would all sit near it, doing what we liked. One evening close to Halloween, Molly and I carved our jack-o-lanterns in front of the fire. Lucy carved out the pattern that Daniel had traced into his pumpkin with safety scissors. Joseph did not join in.

'Mum and Dad are out for Halloween,' said Anne, as she pressed a red candle down into the pulp of Molly's pumpkin, 'so Miss Basildon is coming over for a bit of company. She says we can do Halloween stuff with her, but if anyone wants to go trick or treating she's all right with that too. Lucy can take you.'

Of course Joseph considered himself too old for trick or treating, but Molly and Daniel both wanted to go. Anne spent the next few days cobbling together costumes in between doing her half-term homework.

The night before Halloween, I was woken once again by a tapping on my window. This time I got straight out of bed, expecting to see Miss Basildon, but it was not her. There were three faces at the window, small and brown with eyes that gave off their own light. There were hands as well that beckoned with sharp, pointed little fingers. I jumped back into bed and burrowed deep under the covers.

The tapping stopped, but I heard a soft voice say, 'Tomorrow, then. All Hallow's Eve.'

I spent the day with wide eyes and shaking hands, though no one seemed to notice. Molly and Daniel both managed to make me scream when they jumped out at me in their ghost and witch costumes. Anne gave me an approving smile, thinking I was humouring them, as they ran laughing and squealing along the landing.

Mum and Dad left at dusk, and then Miss Basildon arrived. She found Joseph and me sitting in front of the fire, and Anne setting out bowl after bowl of chocolate eyeballs.

'That'll do, I'd think, dear,' said Miss Basildon, making herself comfortable in our largest armchair. 'I've brought a few things of my own for the little darlings, and perhaps for you little lot when the others get back. Come and sit with us and I'll tell you tales of the fairy folk.'

'That doesn't sound very scary,' said Joseph.

Miss Basildon smiled. 'It isn't all flower fairies and tooth fairies, Joseph. There are also goblins, imps, sprites, wicked pixies, that sort of thing. We all know that the veil between their world and ours is at its thinnest tonight, don't we? Well, one thing they will be doing as we speak is bringing the changelings.'

'I know what those are,' said Anne. 'Fairy babies to swap with human ones.'

'Indeed,' said Miss Basildon. 'Their mothers and fathers and brothers and sisters will be none the wiser, and yet all will come to realise that these children do not quite fit in. They will look a little different, and they will behave more savagely. Oh yes, they will love their families, but there will always be a voice calling them back to the fairy world.'

'Then why bother bringing them at all?' I asked.

'A good question, Fay. They bring them to create mischief in this world, and sometimes evil. A fairy child may go with her people at night, but she will always return to this world to wreak her havoc.'

'She?' I said.

'Well, sometimes he,' said Miss Basildon.

'What sorts of things do they do?'

'Well, my dear, that is up to them.'

There was a silence that, to me, felt sinister. Doubtless no one else thought so. When the doorbell rang, Joseph jumped up to answer it, and Anne rushed to make sure we had enough chocolate eyeballs.

'Well, Fay,' said Miss Basildon. 'Just you and me.'

'I suppose you're a changeling, are you?' I said. I had not forgotten her story about her brothers and sisters.

'Oh yes, dear.'

'Which are you, then? Mischievous or evil?'

She chuckled, and said, 'Fay, dear, you know I'm not here to talk about myself. I see Dorothy has had her kittens. Why don't you choose one for yourself?'

'Cats are for witches,' I said. 'I don't believe you know what you're talking about.'

'Cats are for magicians, dear. Now!' She rose to her feet, pulling a crumpled paper bag from her pocket. 'It sounds like another lot of the little darlings have come to the door already. I'll go and see if they'd like any of my special sweeties.'

'No!' I said, leaning forward and grabbing onto her skirt. 'I don't think you should, Miss Basildon. In fact I'd much rather you didn't give those to anybody.'

'Not to your brothers and sisters, dear?'

'No!'

'Very well.' Miss Basildon put the bag back into her pocket and sat down. 'We'll say no more about it tonight.'

She did not bring the subject up again, and nor did she offer us any of her sweets, but she had not finished with them. After she went home, I watched her house and saw many children accepting offerings from her brown paper bag.

That night, the brown-skinned children came and tapped on my window again. I stayed in bed. After that. nothing happened for some weeks. Then Dorothy's kittens all gained confidence, living sometimes in our house and sometimes in Miss Basildon's, except for one. He adopted me as his constant companion, sleeping on my feet at night and seeing me off to school each morning.

'What do you call him?' Miss Basildon asked me one day.

'Sunshine,' I said, trying to sound defiant. I wanted a name that epitomised goodness, and this was what came to me on the spur of the moment. Of course it was a lie. I wouldn't be so cruel. I called him Henry.

As the winter set in, the fairy children stopped coming to my window. Now it is autumn again. Henry is constantly bringing me mice and birds, while my brothers and sisters will have nothing to do with me. I am either too old, too young or too energetic. Savage, Miss Basildon might say. I collected conkers today, alone.

Now I am in my ground floor bedroom with Henry. Upstairs, I can hear Molly and Daniel playing. Anne and Lucy have gone out together, and Joseph has gone out with a girl. The fairy children are tapping on my window.